I‘ve been speaking about a simple principle as I’ve witnessed it in South Africa over these past two years {the principle that without discipline nature will take over again} and I would now like to take a moment to speak about hope, and how all this can apply to our spiritual lives. {You can read part one here.}

For many of us, when we first answered the call to follow Jesus, we might remember a sharp about-face. That’s the way repentance should be: it is often described as if you are walking in one direction, and you make a one hundred and eighty degree turn, and start heading in the opposite direction.

The call to follow Jesus is often a call to swim upstream. It is a call to walk in ways that are contrary to our nature: loving our enemies, praying for our persecutors, learning that greatness is synonymous with service and that the last will be first. It is a call to choose love over fear, trust over worry.

We can start the race with these things in mind, eager to follow closely, to find the crosses we are called to bear and carry them with vigor and wholehearted enthusiasm. But over time, nature tends to take over, even in our own hearts.

Our natural tendencies will surface and resurface as we navigate the refining fires of a life of faith. Like gold being purified by fire, when things get hot, the undesirable elements begin to rise to the surface.

Zeal and ardent enthusiasm will only carry us so far. We will need discipline to overcome — to pass through those fiery furnaces and allow the Lord to remove the old nature in us as it rises to the surface.

But over time, we may become careless about matters that we were once committed to taking seriously as a part of our desire to follow the Lord. Perhaps it’s the words we are willing to allow out of our mouths, or the commitment to spending time in prayer, or studying God’s word and applying it to our lives.

Without discipline, nature takes over again.

Thankfully, no situation is without hope. With forethought and commitment, things which were allowed to go wild can be subdued and domesticated. Just as old roads can be rebuilt and repaired, so the tongue can be tamed and re-tamed. The wildfire of political corruption can be put out, just as the corruption in our own hearts can be made to acquiesce under the Lordship of Jesus.

None of this will be possible without a patient kind of discipline. In the case of a country, it is a united and sustained effort towards a common goal. In the case of our own souls, what is needed remains much the same.

There is great depth to the truth that the Crucifixion that brought us forgiveness was a lengthy and sustained affair. Jesus patiently submitted to the abuse and punishment of a mocking trial, a scourging, and hours of torture on a cross. He wasn’t shot or stabbed and he didn’t face the electric chair or a lethal injection. Our forgiveness wasn’t won with a sprint. It was paid for with a marathon — and endurance.

Could this be why Hebrews admonishes us:

Therefore, we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. (Heb. 12: 1 & 2}

It goes on to say, “For consider Him who endured such hostility from sinners against Himself, lest you become weary and discouraged in your souls.” {v. 3}

Indeed, the chastening of discipline has the promise to produce good fruit: “Now no chastening seems to be joyful for the present, but painful; nevertheless afterwards it yields the peaceable fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.” {v. 11}

When the Hubs was training in the pool, in his days as a Swimming Champion and Olympic hopeful, he constantly meditated on the motto that pain was good. “No pain, no gain…” kept him pushing through another lap, strengthening his arms and legs to slice through the waters faster and faster.

But the race isn’t always to the swift. The seed that falls on good ground doesn’t spring up as quickly as the seed that falls in rocky places. We are called to a race akin to the marathons held in Greece in the first century that Paul alluded to when he spoke of running toward the prize.

Though our salvation is absolutely a gift of grace, yet the call to follow is simultaneously a call to become a disciple, to take up a cross. We can trust His yoke is easy and His burden is light. Still, there is a weight we are called to carry.

In Romans 12:2, Paul urges us not to be conformed to the image of this world {a world where we’re encouraged to “do what feels good” or to “follow your instincts”} but to be transformed by the renewing of our minds. He ends those words with this promise: “Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is–his good, pleasing and perfect will.”

Nature has a way of taking over again. But in God’s glorious goodness, for a beloved country or a beloved soul, there is always, always hope for transformation.

xCC

It may have occurred to you by now that at some point, it has to happen. I’m still writing With Love, but I’m not writing With Love from Africa anymore. The process of re-entering life here in North Carolina after six years abroad, and two of them in Africa, has been many things, including a grieving process.

I’m grieving the beauty I left behind.

Grieving the poverty I left behind.

I look at where I am now, look at where I’ve been and wonder — did it make a difference? Couldn’t I have been more… done more?

What did it mean?

I read stories like this one — about Katie Davis, a girl who took off for Uganda instead of university in 2007 at age 19, and has since adopted 13 daughters, started a child sponsorship program and a feeding program, and is hoping to open a school this year.

My heart gets turned inside out.

Am I back in the West, and have I forgotten where I was?

I have too many clothes.

I want my very worst addiction to come to an end: my addiction to me.

The part of my re-entry that is currently shocking? How dang easy it’s been to get comfortable. Quick.

***

I think it would be a fair assessment to say that Steve Jobs changed the world during his time in it. He created a market where one previously didn’t exist. He took personal computers in a beautiful new direction. I’m not just saying that because we’re a Mac family — Apple recently surpassed Microsoft and is basically the largest company in the world now.

One of my favorite things Jobs said during his time on this earth was in a commencement speech in 2005, to the graduating class at Stanford University.

I pondered the simple words for a while, and I think I have come to better understand their meaning. Jobs said:

Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.

When I was younger in the Lord, I was hungry for more of Him. Hungry to see Him move. Hungry to see change in the world around me — hungry to be a part of the change that our Father had in mind for His children and the world He created. Hungry to be the hands and feet of Jesus — going to the broken, touching a world in need.

I was foolish enough to believe I could make a difference.

Perhaps Jobs was hungry for a different kind of change. He was hungry to innovate, hungry to create and develop. He was passionate about beauty.

This hunger of mine, though, it’s a hunger and a thirst for righteousness, a hunger to do the will of God, knowing that if we came together and did His will this world would be a radically different place.

I don’t want to get comfortable and lazy — I want to stay hungry for a life that exhibits … exudes God.

And that foolishness — maybe that’s not getting too wise in one’s own eyes, being hungry to learn, to listen.

Was Jobs foolish enough to believe he could change the world, I wonder? Because he did.

Maybe like Bono, I’m foolish enough to believe that Where You Live Should Not Decide whether you live or whether you die. Foolish enough to think ours literally could be the generation that ends extreme poverty.

All the world is hurting, truly — for a while, Africa was where my hands labored to do some healing.

It might be nice to have some new colors here, some new pictures, a change of pace, a change of name.

{I write these things to let you know it’s coming, so that you won’t arrive and think you’ve lost your way.}

But I want, at the core, for all of me, including this, to be about one thing — staying hungry to hear the voice of God and to write what I believe He says, to write like I mean it. And with that, staying foolish enough to believe that changing the world is possible. With my pen, my hands or even a pair of shoes.

The best news? The adventure is really just beginning.

But God has chosen the foolish things of the world to put to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to put to shame the things which are mighty; and the base things of the world and the things which are despised God has chosen, and the things which are not, to bring to nothing the things that are, that no flesh should glory in His presence. But of Him you are in Christ Jesus, who became for us wisdom from God—and righteousness and sanctification and redemption—that, as it is written, “He who glories, let him glory in the LORD.” {I Cor. 1:27 – 31}

As always, with love,
xCC

Our growth and our progress in following the Lord is a much more cyclical process than I ever first perceived it to be. Like the way plants spring up from the ground in the spring, smile and stretch toward the sky in the summer, turn their faces down to the ground in the fall, and become nothing in the winter — only to begin the cycle again. The walk of faith can feel like that…

“I am filled to be emptied again. The seed I’ve received, I will sow.”

Isaiah described it this way:

As the rain and the snow
come down from heaven,
and do not return to it
without watering the earth
and making it bud and flourish,
so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater,
so is my word that goes out from my mouth:
It will not return to me empty,
but will accomplish what I desire
and achieve the purpose for which I sent it. (Is. 55:10&11)

Like the good old process by which rain comes down and evaporates right back up–the linear side of faith, the race toward the prize, is complemented by the cyclical, almost circular side, as if the race is around a track.

I often marvel at how a lesson I thought I’d learned some time ago comes back, and how I need to learn it again. Though I first I feel frustration at my forgetful heart, yet I think this is instead the way we were created, with these cyclical seasons in mind. It was promised from the beginning, just after the flood, that seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night shall not cease. (Gen. 8:22)

I found myself just yesterday, hiding again, without realizing it. I’ve been disappointed, but afraid to admit it. I had some hopes that didn’t come to fruition. I had some expectations that weren’t met.

Disappointment became discouragement.

I didn’t want to admit all this to the Lord, and so I hid.

Rather than say I don’t like what You’ve given, I’d prefer to say nothing at all.

I sat in the garden and sewed fig leaves, carefully weaved out of “We’re doing fines” and “We’re really thankfuls” and “Look how much we have to be thankful fors.” And though all of those are true, they aren’t honest. They aren’t real.

I didn’t even realize I was sewing. I didn’t even know I was hiding. I simply thought I was pressing on with life. I just thought things would get easier and all would be well.

Praise God for the brothers and sisters He gives us — that first Not Good in the garden {before sin!} was the It is not good for man to be alone. Indeed.

A friend, a sister in the faith, spoke life to me, pointing to the thing I wasn’t willing to admit, perhaps without even realizing she was doing so. I saw my leaves, and saw that I needed His healing, His help letting go.

Letting go is often a necessary part of moving on — but it’s a part I wanted to skip.

And letting go sometimes requires being honest and admitting you have something you need to let go of. Or something of which you need to let go if I’m attending to my grammar.

Why do I forget that I can be honest with God?

Why do I try to hide anything from the One who knows everything? Why am I ashamed and embarrassed of emotions that are the natural result of the way I’ve been created? He already knows I’m a sinner. He sent His Son to cover that.

The breastplate of righteousness I can wear, the one paid for by Jesus — it is the only true covering, but it is so true. And it covers, and it means He looks at me and sees His Son.

Why do I try to dig in my own little drawer of fabric scraps and piece together my own covering?

I am making an outfit out of filthy rags, when the most beautiful, white, flowing robe I could ever wear is hanging in the closet.

Don’t forget that you can be honest with God. If you’re angry, hurt, scared, confused, disappointed and discouraged — He is big enough to handle it.

Psalm 46:10 spoke this to me for the first time, just two days ago, in a way I never understood it before:

“Be still and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations. I will be exalted in all the Earth.”

If you get really still — still enough to even try to take that ginormous thought in — you suddenly see how small all of this is. Your hurt and your emotions. Your failures and your fig leaves. That doesn’t belittle your importance — God sent His only Son for you. It gives you perspective — He is on the throne. It is well with my soul. This is all going to end in Glory.

I will not surprise Him, disturb Him, or even belittle His greatness by bringing Him everything — the crowns and the crossed arms, the Hallelujahs and the WhyWhyWhyWhyOhWhyOhWhyOhWhys.

I said I was hurt. Disappointed and discouraged. I said I was sorry I hid. I sensed Him hearing all of it — as if He’d been right there waiting for me to see all along. I told the Lord I loved Him with tears in my eyes — and it was perhaps for the first time in a while that 100% of me meant it.

xCC

That was a really long title. But I just couldn’t leave any of it out. For the past week or ten, I’ve been talking about a few different things. I’ve been talking about faith, thankfulness, and how lots of Australians seem to visit this site but don’t comment.

I’ve also spoken about parenting. And if you’re the observant kind, you’ve probably noticed that I feel like I’m struggling in it. It’s everybody’s story, perhaps, but right now it’s mine.

The older one is cheeky and I lack the energy to reel him in.

The younger one is teething and, well, not sleeping in a manner conducive to me getting reasonable amounts of sleep many nights.

{This morning’s pajama dance party with DJ Jazzy Tank.}

And somehow in the back of my mind, thoughts from posts like this one or this one, are whispering in my ear: You’re not savoring enough! You’re not enjoying enough! You’re not smiling and laughing and taking snapshots with your mind enough!

Exactly as this brilliant woman described it in an article in the Huffington Post, the well-meaning voices of ladies who were once in this stage are echoing these exclamations: It goes by so fast! Enjoy every minute! Are you loving every. single. minute. of mothering? You should! Cuz it’ll be gone before you know it!

But at the end of many-a-day, just like Melton described it in her article, I am often just glad my boys are asleep with all of their fingers and toes still attached to their bodies.

The truth is, the goal of enjoying every. single. moment. of parenting can leave you feeling like you’ve fallen off a wagon you never knew how to ride.

And why, oh why, even after realizing it before, does it suddenly occur to me: I feel like I’m failing because I’m using the wrong measuring stick.

Enjoy. Every. Last. Stinking. Minute. is not a reasonable expectation. Not for marriage. Not for motherhood. Not for just about anything except a roller coaster ride or a brief video on youtube.

It’s only natural that the peaks and troughs will come — the lower the troughs, the higher the peaks feel.

I’ve been doing a bit of informal research as to how Christians feel about dating. Specifically, I’ve been asking why does Christian dating often feel so awkward? (Feel free to comment with your opinions — anonymously, if necessary!)

One of the common threads I’ve seen has everything to do with expectations. Expectations on the part of brothers and sisters in the Church that feel entitled to know every. last. stinking. detail. about a couple’s relationship as it unfolds. Expectations on the part of the girl or the guy that the one the Lord has for me will be like this and like this and like this but not like this or this or that or that or that.

There are often mutually unrealized expectations about how a relationship should unfold, and that sure does seem to make things messy.

It is a necessary part of life, our beautiful ability to think about what we’re thinking about. And it probably wouldn’t hurt to think about it a little more. I think.

Sewiously, there is great value in taking the time to ask if you’re feeling guilty about something you’ve done or left undone, when the only person you’d ever expect to achieve that goal is you. Are you expecting yourself to be an everything home-cooked, always under budget, kids always tidy, smiling through every circumstance, always on time, don’t worry I’ve got it together Mamacita?

Is that a Reasonable, Realistic goal? For this season of your life? In these circumstances?

If you are the kind of person who wants to beat yourself up for sinning and falling short, even though you know it’s forgiven and long-gone and the Lord has removed it as far as the East is from the West, you are probably the kind of person that has high expectations for yourself. And that’s not always a good thing.

Leave some room for Grace!

In addition to a little introspection, it ain’t a bad idea to put your hand on your chin like the Thinker and consider the expectations you’ve set for who other people are, who they should be, and what they should be doing.

Do you mayhaps have unrealistic expectations for your spouse? Your best friend? Your second cousin’s third grade teacher? Your pastor?

Are you hanging up an unfair measuring stick for you, or somebody else?

A friend of mine read the article I linked to above and said she felt like God had lifted a weight off her shoulders when she read it. Why? Because she’s probably like me. I’m freaked out by the fact that the childhood of our children goes by very quickly, and I’m often worried that I’m going to have regrets at the end of it because I didn’t hold on to enough. Somehow.

I needed someone to say: It is okay not to enjoy every minute of it. Yes, some of it is just plain hard. Just savor the good stuff. Enjoy what you can when you can. And everything’s gonna be alright… everything gonna be alright hey… no woman no cry… hey no woman… no..

Sorry I’m back.

Give your expectations a little thought when you get a second. It might take a load off your back, or somebody else’s — I {hesistantly} expect it’ll be a healthy exercise for you, too.

xCC

The year was 2007. The Hubs and I were not yet ‘the Hubs and I.’ We lived in Edinburgh, Scotland and were preparing for our June wedding in North Carolina. He still came-a-calling to hang out with me in a cute little place off Leith Walk I shared with some lovely girlfriends, the last place that would be “mine” and not “ours.”

For the LORD God is a sun and shield; the Lord bestows favour and honour;

No good thing does He withhold from those whose walk is blameless. {Ps. 84:11}

In the months between our January engagement and our June wedding, we decided to look for a flat to buy. {Translation: apartment. Just in case.} We’d both been renting in different parts of the city, but liked the idea of settling down, “finding a place of our own.” Hopefully somewhere central so we could have lots of friends over. The housing market was on the up and up — it seemed like a great investment.

Here’s some context.

Quite different from how the property markets work in the US and South Africa, Scotland works on an “offers over” system. This means people might list their two bedroom Edinburgh flat for “offers over £99,000,” and then people will make their best guess at what they’re willing to pay over that amount. You don’t know what anyone else is bidding, so you’re kind of making a blind guess as to what you think other interested buyers might bid. But you’re hoping not to out-bid the others by £10,000 because that would just be a waste, now wouldn’t it?

When property was moving hot and fast in the spring of ’07, £99,000 flats were going for £127,000 and then some.

Which seemed ridonkulous.

We didn’t enter the process lightly — with much prayer and much thought we were cautiously taking steps in this direction, trusting the Lord would light up the path for us. I was full of hope we could buy a place to stop paying someone else’s mortgage and start paying our own.

As HH-to-be and I viewed flat after flat after flat, we became very aware of a couple of things:

1. People were making ridiculous offers. We could not believe how much one bedroom flats were going for in parts of town that I would say could “go either way.” “Hello Hooligans, on the way to the football (US readers: soccer) stadium at the bottom of Easter Road!”

2. We could not make ridiculous offers. We just weren’t going to. We weren’t willing to risk going upside down on a flat that we couldn’t afford. We were going to make a reasonable choice, and stay well inside our budget. And we weren’t going to let even that one awesome flat we viewed in this crazy building that I think was first built as a printing press and the converted change our minds.

Although I personally could’ve been swayed.

3. The old saying that what goes up must come down is still true.

Okay that was three things.

Anyway, we were in the middle of a viewing — I think a second viewing — of a place we were particularly fond of when the penny dropped. Maybe it was a half-penny. Or two pence.

HH-to-be was chatting with the current owner, I was marveling at the classic choice of red and white baroque-patterned wallpaper and how the afternoon sun on an Edinburgh spring day cast a delicate luster over the hardwood floors through a nearby skylight.

It was the first time we were really starting to think … this could be it, praying the Lord would make it clear and hoping hoping hoping … and the owner’s phone rang. With an offer. Easily a couple thousand pounds over what we were willing to pay.

And that was that.

As we walked to the car, HH-to-be spoke some words of wisdom: I think the Lord has made it clear for us. And from that day forward, we looked for places to rent. Well actually we looked for places to let, because that’s what you say when you’re looking for a place in the UK.

And “To Let” signs sit outside buildings all over the city and riding past on the bus I always wished I could get out and spray paint an ‘i’ in the middle. Just for fun.

Once or twice.

We found the first place we called “our place” not long before I was off to the US to prepare for our wedding. We returned as hubs and wife and moved into “our place” where we fed lots of friends from a tiny kitchen (you could literally stand in one spot and reach everything) and watched episodes of Lost from iTunes on my Macbook, propped on an ottoman in front of our tiny couch.

We were there three months before we headed to the States to raise support for HH to be a full time staff member at our church.

We were there three months (in the States) when we discovered the Bear was on his way into the world. Surprise and Merry Christmas, the Lord seemed to say.

We returned from our time in the States, me six months pregnant, and we rented a flat that was everything we hoped for and then some.

And the Bear was perhaps just three months old when we started to realize living life spread across three continents wasn’t going to work. For our family.

The family we didn’t even know was coming when it was spring in Edinburgh and we were looking for flats.

Before his first birthday, two months after our first anniversary, we were on our way to South Africa, with a stop in the States thrown in for good measure.

It was only two brief years after we would’ve bought a lovely flat in Edinburgh.

A new season and a new country were ahead of us.

And I’m not sure how that would’ve been possible — I am very certain it would’ve been messy — if we were servicing a mortgage on a flat in Edinburgh. In a market in a slump. And trying to raise support for life and ministry in South Africa, thousands of miles away.

Sometimes we don’t know what’s good for us. Sometimes unanswered prayer is the greatest gift we can receive.

I look back, thankful, we listened to that still small voice and didn’t push in a direction we weren’t supposed to go.

The Sermon in a Nutshell: Remember God’s goodness today. Remember that He sees the end from the beginning. Even when we’re in the middle, and all we see is red and white wallpaper and hardwood floors.

xCC

It’s Sunday afternoon, but I don’t feel holy. The Christmas decorations are still up. Managing the kids has left my weekend to-do list virtually untouched.

I feel behind on a job that never finishes.

I speak harshly, I am frustrated. My impatience shines through, tone, mood, words, actions.

And then these words speak Truth to me again: Suddenly, they’re saying it’s all grace.

The baby finally naps thirty minutes. Asleep in my arms. Two teeth stretching gums, waiting for breakthrough.

He wakes in a flurry of upset, I don a coat, switching him from one hip to the other, slip his coat on his little arms, hood over his head.

He loves outside.

Put that baby in the wagon and pull him around the neighborhood…he’ll look excited enough to jump out.

The Hubs is in the backyard pulling weeds. He’s been at it for hours. Long, strong vines that have had years to spread, unhindered. Who knows how deep their root system goes, how these interconnected spider webs move, slowly and silently, to quietly crush their hosts, slowly strangling life.

He has hacked in one section, plans to attack them as high as he can reach. They’ve creeped up a tree.

“Will they kill that tree?” I ask quietly.

“They already are,” he says. “But if I cut off their roots here, hopefully they’ll die. They’re too strong and thick for me to pull them down now.”

Back inside I ponder what to do with this little one, this one who just wants to be held.

I’m selfish. I want to do what I want to do. I forget all of this is gift.

I go to the bathroom. He sits on the floor in front of me. Wants to stand up, reach his little fists into the water. I sigh while I manage to prevent that from happening.

I wonder for a while at this heart of mine, I think about my own weeds.

An ancient whisper from Job comes into my mind…the man who’d lost everything in a day or two, and exclaimed “The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.” His wife encouraged a bitter response, but he replied:

“You speak as one of the foolish women speaks. Shall we indeed accept good from God, and not adversity?” {Job. 2:10}

Indeed.

My displeasure with some small aspect of my circumstances — when I refuse to see it from the right perspective — becomes a creeping weed. It edges up, up, up, starts circling and squeezing my heart.

That question from the snake in the garden, “Did God really say…” arrives in many forms. Asks if He does really love us when we don’t find things working out the way we think they should.

The thing is, the adversity, rightly seen, is a gift, too. There is beauty on the other side of the trial — like the pain and suffering of the crucifixion, our forgiveness.

Our redemption flowed from adversity.

His pain bought our peace.

And the challenges of life that get me uncomfortable are the very things that bring me to my knees, to His feet.

But forget the trial is rightly received as gift and you misunderstand the Giver, and the weeds creep up, waiting to strangle, ready to sap life thin and thirsty, dry.

Sometimes breakthrough is the victory you sense and savor when the trial is over.

But sometimes, breakthrough is the ability to say, like Paul:

Not that I speak in regard to need, for I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content: I know how to be abased, and I know how to abound. Everywhere and in all things I have learned both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” {Phil. 4: 11 – 13}

Breakthrough comes when you, in the trial, are able to praise His goodness, declare His greatness — find contentment in every circumstance.

Sometimes breakthrough is the victory we experience in the trial — when we are able to trust God afresh. Lean on His goodness. And the ‘all things’ we celebrate being able to do isn’t so much related to human feats of great effort, phenomenal accomplishments made by ordinary people — the incredible all things we can do through the strength of Christ have ever so much more to do with our ability to thrive under pressure…with joy.

To endure the trial and trust it will birth redemption, even if we don’t see it yet. Isn’t that breakthrough? Faith that is sure of what we hope for and certain of what we don’t yet see?

Breakthrough is laying hold of the weeds that have laid hold of your heart, repenting and renewing your mind — hacking away at them with the Truth, refusing to let them strangle out the Life that flows from abiding in the Vine under the shadow of His wings.

Breakthrough is finding the ability to embrace your own human shortcomings, knowing these weaknesses are the space where His strength is made perfect.

A week and a day later, I’m here finishing these thoughts that started a Sunday ago when I was troubled by the trial. Those two tiny teeth have poked through those tender gums. Our nights are getting easier, I am not so tired in the day.

But the breakthrough came before the trial ended, when I tuned my heart to the keys of trust and thankful.

Parenthood, and all of life, is full of challenge, heartache, trial. But what glory there is to behold when we can lift our hands in the midst of the hard and the messy, and give praise.

The Lord, our God! He is indeed so good. Even when we can’t yet see the redemption, we can trust that we will.

And right there — the faith in the furnace — there’s the breakthrough I’ve been waiting for.

xCC

Hey guys and dolls. Now that the survey’s in, I know that I can pretty much start most of my posts by just saying “Hey gals.” Or, ladies, muchachas…whatever the word of the day is, at any rate, the key finding is that you’re pretty much all female. Basically, if you’re reading this, you’re either female, or you’re related to me.

Or, of course, both.

Now don’t worry. That doesn’t mean I’m going to start talking about all those womanly issues related to our collective ability to conceive and bear children, but I think I’m now much more comfortable talking about the fact that sometimes I fuss at my kids and then think my hormones are probably to blame.

It is what it is.

I’ve been aiming to cater to a more gender-neutral readership, but I think I can safely stop bothering. Dudes, if you’re out there, ya better speak now or forever hold your peace.

Speaking of hormones, I will say I rather had a struggle this week with my own humanness, and that difficult fragility I wrestle which is directly related to mood swings which are directly related to that collective ability to conceive and bear children, aforementioned.

And…heavens, you gals are going to think all my revelations come in the shower… I was praying in the shower and struggling with my own soul’s inconsistency. Just frustrated with the fact that I would rather be more similar to a robot than a human when it comes to my moods.

I want to put on my makeup and my happy face and I want them both to last all day.

All, day, d’ya hear me?!?! All day!

Like this:

But they don’t. And I am disappointed with me when I’ve already fallen short of the happy standard and here it is just after breakfast — I’m just getting in the shower and the day has just started!

Somebody find the happy wagon, I need to get back on!

There in the shower words of wisdom met me and I understood them even a little more:

And He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” {2 Cor. 12:9a, NKJV}

I stood, freshly aware of my weakness — absolutely part of the way I was created. Absolutely related to the fall. And it was new to me, somehow, this news flash:

Self-sufficiency will get you frustrated. God-sufficiency will give you life. In Him we have everything we need for life and godliness…

Those words Paul wrote to the Corinthians continue:

“Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” {2 Cor. 12:9b}

That omnipotent Creator of ours knew all this from the start. Planned it in advance.

I am settling for a forced effort at happy, missing the unforced rhythms of thankfulness and grace, and the joy that naturally flows from their music.

The thing I like the least is my own inconsistency. My inability to get it just right. My shifting sand, heart up and down ways, which can laugh at the drop of a hat, cry over spilled milk, raise my voice with nary a second thought.

But this inconsistency, this too, becomes glorious because it brings me to Him. Had I had it all together in the shower Tuesday morning, I probably would’ve been making a mental to-do list for the day or thinking about what was clean and ready in the closet.

But my fluctuating and frustrated heart brought me to His — showed me again my need for God, my need for forgiveness, my daily debt to grace. Graciously paid for by God’s own Son.

Come here, child, I have what you need…

Isn’t that beautiful — the redemption, even of the things I don’t like about me? My non-robot ways — my wishy washy human nature, even this is good.

How would I see my need for Him, without it?

Things have been quiet for a few days here — I’ve gone another round with high impact aims, working in our home. I’ve gone an extra few minutes, sleeping in the morning, for the baby who’s doing better, but still struggling a bit at night. And I’m going a little closer to the throne — hoping to catch a glimpse of the vision He has for this wishy-washy-non-robot gal in this new place, new season.

But as always, more is on the way here.

Thank you — to all of you wonderful gals who’ve taken the survey so far. (It has — quite literally — been all gals.) The results have been priceless and encouraging.

I may be moving in more directions, making some changes around here in the days ahead, but clearly, you are here because you like, among other things, faith-based encouragement and I’m happy because that’s what I like to write about most.

Please know that my metaphorical door is always open for your comments and suggestions and feedback — whether you’d rather leave them in a comment at the bottom of a post, shoot me an email or even snail mail a letter my way.

I might wet my pants if that happened.

And I think you’ll all be glad to know at least one Aussie took the survey — and she said my site was deadly, which is apparently a good thing. {Thanks, friend!}

This non-robot woman is happy to say I’ll be keeping at it — thankful as ever for the sponsor that makes it all possible, grace.

xCC

P.S. There’s still time to take the Coming Out of the Closet survey and I sure would be glad if ya did. It’s fourteen happy questions, skip the ones you don’t like…and it’s really for you, after all.

P.P.S. My friend Tiffany wrote a great post about how aiming at excellent Mommy-ness might distract our hearts from the real goal. Worth clicking over to read it!

I‘ve pondered for a while that night in the boat, when the disciples were so afraid of the wind and the waves and Jesus was asleep on a cushion. That was the time they woke Him up, shouting,

“TEACHERRRRR! AHHHHH! DON’T YOU CARE THAT WE’RE GONNA DROWN?!?! ARGHHHH!”

Least it went something like that. Maybe if they were Pirates.

{I imagine that if the disciples were teenagers it would’ve been more like:

“Uh, Rabbi… DUDE! OMG! We are NOT ROTFL back here. OMG! Don’t you, like, care? OMG! HELLLLLP! K THANKS.”

And if Jesus was a present-day teenager He might’ve replied:

“OM-Me. Whatever dudes. Why are you such pansies? Do you have, like, no faith? Fo rizzle. I’ve got this under control. A’ight, waves, chillax. K thanks. Wind, TTFN. See, dudes? Sweet n breezay. “}

Swiftly getting back to the real version…

Jesus’ response to the disciples always seemed a little harsh to me:

“Why are you sissies afraid? Do you still have no faith?”

Okay maybe He skipped the sissies part.

But I’m guessing there were some serious waves, and there was some serious wind, to scare the pants off a group that included some seasoned fishermen.

{By the way this story is in Mark 4, in case you don’t like my version.}

Those brothers were scared. Fo rizzle.

This crazy little thing called life has presented me with some scary possibilities. And, even recently, I’ve just plain been afraid.

Weak-willed and worried — and maybe even losing sleep but I think the baby is mostly to blame for that.

But when I remember the God who hasn’t let me down yet — the One who has always been there, always demonstrated His love — I realize why fear is an amateur response to the scary stuff.

The disciples were right in bringing their concern to Jesus — there is never anything we shouldn’t bring to Him.

But where they were off beat was in questioning Jesus’ care and concern for them because they were experiencing hardship.

We’ve all been promised trials and tribulations. But we’ve also been promised the peace that will carry us through — the walking-through-that-shadowy-valley-with-my-head-held-high, fearless kind of peace that surpasses all understanding.

But when it’s hard, it’s hard not to ask: Don’t you care, God?

That seems like a familiar response in my own heart when the storms are raging with high seas and my little soul-boat feels tossed about.

But His Word reminds me what Paul and Barnabas told the believers in the early church:

“We must through many tribulations enter the kingdom of God.” (Acts 14:22, NKJV)

And I remember His sovereignty over all:

Does disaster come to a city unless the Lord has planned it? (Amos 3:6b, NLT)

The Lord of Heaven’s Armies have sworn this oath: “It will all happen as I have planned. It will all be as I decided.” (Isaiah 14:24)

So how do we rightly respond, when the waves are high, when the ship is tossed, when we are afraid and have no idea how it is all-gonna-be-otay?

Job said, “The Lord gave me what I had, and the Lord has taken it away. Praise the name of the Lord.” (Job 1:20, NLT)

Mary said, “I am the Lord’s servant. May everything you have said about me come true.” (Luke 1:38)

The Key Word that ties it all together? Trust.

Right now, I am remembering these words, holding onto them, savoring them like a quality slice of key lime pie:

“The LORD directs the steps of the godly. He delights in every detail of their lives. Though they stumble they will never fall, for the LORD holds them by the hand.” {Psalm 37: 23 & 24, NLT}

{Doesn’t that taste good?}

Even when the wind is blowing a hoolie and the waves are crashing over your soul-boat’s bow, the Lord, the Lord — He is faithful, and absolutely worthy of trust.

I am preaching these words to me today — just thought I’d share them with you, too.

xCC

P.S. Have you had a chance to Come Outta the Closet yet? Please won’t you click over to my last post and answer a few brief questions for me? Preez with brown sugar and bacon on top?

I‘m reading wise words about thankfulness. That 5 x 7 I’ve thought long and hard about, the one that can frame all of life in the best of ways. And in whispers that speak life to my soul, I’m reminded we we enter His courts with Thanksgiving, we walk through those gates with Praise.

How I continually try another route!

My grumpalicious attitude toward all of life told me when the boys were napping I needed to sit still. I picked up One Thousand Gifts , and the words of the third chapter wrapped around my heart, ringing out dirt and disappointment like a soiled sponge, squeezed and rinsed to make room for soaking in goodness and light.

The baby hasn’t been sleeping well. Night after night we take turns shushing and rocking, hoping a little pain medicine will help while a stubborn tooth that borders breaking through. I could set my watch in the day, by his wake-up from each nap, precisely forty-five minutes after I’ve laid him down.

{I’ve heard there’s a sleep transition at the 45 minute mark from a REM cycle to deep sleep or something of that sort…our little Tiger seems to prefer to keep it light.}

He is happier when he gets twice that forty-five amount, so I go in and try my best to settle him for a second round. Sometimes finding success, sometimes sighing and giving up.

In the middle of the moment — me finding peace in a book and the reminder that God is indeed so, so good — he wakes. With a sigh of disappointment I scurry in, hoping to catch him quickly enough with a shush and a return of the pacifier.

He doesn’t resettle, I scoop him up and begin the task of rocking him back and forth in the air, shushing every so often.

I stare out the window because I think if I look him in the eyes it’ll keep him awake.

Suddenly something I wrote weeks ago but haven’t had a chance to type out and post — about being thankful for these moments with this baby as a baby — comes to mind. And all those signs pointing to thankful from that book I’m reading — there, too, I hear the urging, the sweet little angel on my shoulder.

Look again!

As Sherlock Holmes once told Dr. Watson, You see, but you do not observe.

I look down and see the picture, re-framed with thankfulness. Look at those tufts of soft baby hair … he still has hardly any hair! And the way those eyelashes curl! That precious little button nose! And bless his heart, those ears! He is in my arms — peacefully asleep.

After two attempts to put him down which both resulted in his stirring awake, I decided to rethink the matter all together. Is anything in life so pressing that it can’t wait forty-five minutes? And how much longer will he be so small and take a nap in my arms?

I slowly sauntered back into the living room, where I’d been sitting before. Precious bundle, ten-months-along, snoozing happily with his head in the crook of my arm, me returning to my book, just as before.

These were but a few of the powerful words waiting for me:

On every level of life, from housework to heights of prayer, in all judgement and efforts to get things done, hurry and impatience are sure marks of the amateur.*

But how can this be? Isn’t my dirty kitchen floor the sign that I’m an amateur? The scratch on my baby’s nose because I’m not staying on top of keeping his nails trimmed? The Christmas tree still decorated and sitting proudly in the window … these are the things that scream amateur to the world, right?

I read on and the words are familiar because I’ve lived them: The hurry makes us hurt. Hurry always empties a soul. And Ann and I are kindred spirits because more than anything I say yes to this:

I just want time to do my one life well.

And Lord help me to see what that looks like.

Another forty-five minutes go by, slow and peaceful. The baby sleeps in my arms, I quietly turn pages, gently stretch for my pen to underline or make a star in a margin.

He wakes again, complaining because he has gotten so warm, snuggled into my sleeve, but the complaints quickly give way to joy.

The lyrics of an old Green Day song, one popular during my senior year of high school come to mind:

It’s something unpredictable, but in the end it’s right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

And I remember conversations with my best friend about those lyrics — thinking they didn’t just mean ‘I hope you had a great time’ but “I hope you had the time of your life.” Did you have the time? Did you live the time you had?

Ann had said just then, Thanksgiving makes time. And until I saw it in a moment lived well, I still wasn’t sure I believed her.

xCC

{Ann Voskamp’s One Thousand Gifts is available on Amazon. I’m only on chapter four and it’s changing my life. It. is. so. good. If you want to fully live this year, I highly recommend getting this book. Practicing His Presence — and finding real joy — is simpler than you think.}

*Evelyn Underhill, quoted in Martin H. Manser, ed., The Westminster Collection of Christian Quotations (Louiseville: Westminster, 2001), 270. {via Ann Voskamp’s One Thousand Gifts, p. 66}

My links to Amazon are affiliate links. But I’m telling the truth. Just so you know.

Laugh if you want. I think I was in college when I first realized “elbow grease” wasn’t something you could purchase in the cleaning aisle at your local supermarket. It was one of those expressions that must’ve gone in one ear and out the other for a while.

The only job I ever held in high school was working as a lifeguard at a nearby swimming pool in the summer. Working on my tan, twirling my whistle around my fingers, and keeping an eye on the kids jumping off the diving board didn’t take a whole lot out of me. If I’m honest, when it came time to do the work of scrubbing the toilets or tidying the picnic area, I was lazy.

My elbow grease quotient was really low.

The jobs that followed, working in Media Relations at my university, waitressing at a Chinese Restaurant, sandwiching at a sandwich spot, assisting in the Honors Office as a graduate student, didn’t do much to teach me about elbow grease either. Of course there were occasional moments where more than the minimum was required of me, and I rose to the challenge, but for the most part I was, as they say, pretty good at {barely} gettin’ by.

Perhaps it wasn’t until my studies were {temporarily} finished and I landed a job at a Pawn Shop just off the belt line in North Carolina’s capital that I finally learned a bit about elbow grease and a hard day’s work. Mopping the floor of the storage area where aisles and aisles of things people had pawned were being held and scrubbing the grub off chain saws and old TVs was exactly what I needed to understand the meaning of hard work.

We returned to North Carolina about four months ago, and we’ve been blessed with a lot of gifts since then. Some of those gifts, like my wonderful new crock pot, have been fresh-out-the-box and ready to use. Other gifts have required more of that good ol’ elbow grease.

I mentioned here before that we’ve been blessed with a place to stay on this homecoming. While we save up and look for a place to live closer to the Hubs’ workplace, we’re in my aunt’s house in my hometown. It’s a wonderful home and we are very thankful.

However, this gift does come with a little work. No one lived here for close to four years before we moved in. And I’ve been helping my cousins go through some of their mother’s things, and it turns out she was a bit of a collector. The collections have collected dust. The floors have collected muck. The drawers need un-packing in order to be re-packed and the closets need cleaning out and wiping down before anything can be put back in. We are waging war against bugs.

This is an absolutely wonderful gift to us — and, it is a gift that requires some elbow grease.

I scrubbed the kitchen floor this morning and pondered the gifts God has given me lately, how many of them are fresh-out-the-box, while others have required some work.

And I stopped to consider how much of life this Truth applies to:

A person with the gift of a beautiful voice still spends hours learning and practicing in order to use their gift. A person with the gift of writing still reads and works and practices to hone their craft.

Whether you’re a gifted clothing designer, a jewelry maker or a bread-baker, receiving your gift will rightly mean elbow grease. Practice. Diligence and hard work.

And wait — couldn’t that be so for our salvation?

The gift of God — the finished work of Jesus on the cross, which was set before Him even when He was swaddled and lying in that manger — our bought and paid in full salvation: it is completely a gift we can only but receive with open hands.

And yet, somehow this gift of Grace Amazing also requires elbow grease in its receiving. The call to follow Jesus is a call to come and die, a call to take up the cross.

There is no disciple without discipline.

We could choose to move into this home and leave everything as is — never pack or unpack a box, never clean or sweep or scrub or rearrange — but we wouldn’t really be receiving and enjoying the gift we’ve been given. We wouldn’t truly be living in our gift, we would just be biding our time.

There was this beautiful beach a few miles from our home in Gordon’s Bay. It required a bit of a hike along a steep path to get down to it. It wasn’t an exceptional amount of effort, but we visited once or twice while I was pregnant with Blake and I found it a bit of a strain.

When we arrived at the bottom, overlooking the rocks, the gorgeous craggy cliffs, the raging surf and sparkling sand, I was always thankful I made the effort.

How sad would it be to wait in the car? Sure I’d hear the ocean — but I wouldn’t feel the grains of sand between my toes, the sun warm on my skin, the spray of the surf tickling my face.

Fully entering into the goodness of our gifts requires more from us than waiting in the car.

The Elbow Grease of discipline — the discipline of keeping one’s heart thankful, one’s mind on the matters of the kingdom, one’s feet walking in the ways of Jesus — will ensure that we don’t just see the beach from a distance.

For humble and mustard-seed efforts there are mountain-top rewards. And there is much fruit in the discipline of abiding.

Have you been waiting in the car? Are you receiving the gift of Grace — or any other gift — without exercising the elbow grease necessary for truly receiving it?

Somehow in God’s infinite wisdom, He has given us a gift that costs us nothing and everything.

The choice is ours to unwrap it.

xCC